


Corrosive Evidence

by Macx



Series: Denuo [28]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warrick stumbles upon the fact that his best friend is bi and sleeping with their supervisor by accident, and it makes him angier than he had ever thought he could be. But what is the real problem behind his reaction? Homophobia or something completely different?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corrosive Evidence

Warrick Brown had known Nick Stokes for over five years now, close to six. The other man, just a year his junior, had a lot of faces, a lot of identities, and wasn’t even aware of how he used them sometimes. At first sight, he was a high school ex-jock, all muscle and looks, no brain. All smiles and oozing charm, no higher IQ. But you didn’t get to be a CSI without the degrees to back up your science. Nick Stokes wasn’t any different from the other criminalists and he was just as much a nerd as Warrick – with the little difference that he didn’t look it.  
He also appeared to be a ladies’ man, especially with those looks. Nick was lean but muscular, athletic and handsome, with a rugged, square-jawed touch. Women looked at him, turned around to watch him walk away, and Warrick knew that if Nick wanted to, he could have another lady friend each night.  
But that wasn’t Nick’s style.  
He was, Brown mused, actually quite the opposite, sometimes bordering to shy. He didn’t have a steady girlfriend and the only woman he had ever seen Nick get a bit more serious about had been a hooker. And she was dead now.  
Warrick mentally shook his head. Nick’s love-life was... non-existent.  
But lately, things had changed. Light banter about women had turned more serious, and Nick had that expression in his eyes Warrick knew too well from other men. Something had happened, had stormed into his friend’s life, and it was a good something. He was seeing someone.  
“Okay, what’s her name?“  
Nick, in the process of shrugging into his black t-shirt with the gray trimmings, looked at him.  
“Her? Who her?“ he asked.  
“Your girlfriend.“  
“Who says I’ve got a girl?“  
Warrick rolled his eyes. “C’mon…. That grin, that sparkle… you got laid.“  
“And you of all people noticed that because….?“ Nick teased.  
Warrick grimaced. Okay, so he hadn’t had much luck either, but CSIs rarely found the perfect partner to spend their lives with. Said partner would have to be very tolerant of not only odd work hours, loads of overtime, and being on call everywhere, but also the smell. Sometimes, Warrick had to confess, he smelled worse than an autopsy room.  
“So you got a woman in your life?” he tried another approach.  
“No.”  
“Oh, fess up already, Stokes.”  
“I don’t have a woman in my life, Warrick,” Nick clarified and closed the locker, eyes dancing.  
“I bet you do.”  
Nick quirked an eyebrow. “You’ll lose that bet, my friend. Here I thought you didn’t gamble any more.”  
Warrick rolled his eyes. “It’s not gambling. It’s knowing.”  
Nick laughed and shook his head. “No, it’s poking in the dark, Warrick, and you’re dead wrong.”  
“Wanna bet on it?”  
“Nope. Not letting you fall back into old habits, man.” He picked up his bag and slung his jacket over one shoulder. “I’m off for today. See ya tonight.”  
And with that he was gone.  
Warrick watched him, frowning. Nick had a girlfriend; he was dead certain he had.  
The sound of a locker opening made him jump. He turned and discovered Gil Grissom, their supervisor, pulling out his jacket and stowing some of his belongings in his locker. He was supposed to go on a weekend conference, Warrick remembered, and was leaving this afternoon.  
Grissom looked up and a curious expression flitted over his boyish features.  
“Something wrong?”  
“Nope.”  
Grissom briefly tilted his head in a silent ‘are you sure?’ question. Warrick exhaled explosively.  
“It’s Nick.”  
“What about him?”  
Grissom calmly hung up his lab coat on the hanger that had held his dark jacket.  
“He got a girl, I’m sure of it, but the bastard’s denying it.”  
A tiny smile tugged at Grissom’s mouth. “Nick rarely lies.”  
“He does now.”  
“Which angers you why exactly?”  
Warrick puffed out air. Yeah, why did it? “No idea. You know Nick’s track record is abysmal when it comes to relationships with the opposite sex, so if he has a lady in his life, why not share?”  
“Nick is also a very private person, Warrick,” Grissom answered reasonably, “and one’s private life is to be respected.”  
Uh-huh. Says the guy we all know has no life outside these walls, a nasty part of Warrick griped.  
He buried it immediately.  
Shutting his locker, Grissom left, too. Warrick sighed deeply, packed his own things and finally followed. He would find out, he vowed.

* * *

Grissom had come home, his home, to find Nick already there, making breakfast. His lover gave him a wide, dimpled smile as Gil closed the door, then returned to his task of getting everything out of the fridge and onto the table. It smelled of pancakes.  
"What's the occasion?" Grissom asked, dumping his bag.  
"Well, you, me, weekend without you... I thought a nice good-bye breakfast would be appropriate." Another dimpled grin.  
His flight was leaving at five this afternoon and while he still had to pack, there was little Grissom would take along clothes-wise. His field kits and everything needed for his lecture was already packed and ready.  
"Do I have time for a shower?" he wanted to know.  
"A quick one."  
And a quick one it was. He was back at the table, now set with the food and flooded with early morning sunlight, ten minutes later. Almost record time, he mused.  
"Sorry, forgot the syrup.“

 

Nick stood to walk over to the counter where he 'accidentally' had forgotten the maple syrup for the pancakes. Stepping past Grissom he smirked once, bending down and very gently blew over the exposed skin of his lover’s neck. Grissom almost dropped his fork, head whipping around in surprise. Stokes just grinned and placed a quick peck on his cheek, handing over the syrup. Gil frowned at him but didn’t say anything, simply took the bottle. Sitting back down, Nick attacked his breakfast, watching his lover from the corner of his eyes. Grissom was as calm and collected as ever – or wasn’t he? Only one way to find out.  
Next time Nick had to get up, for coffee this time, he didn’t just blow but brushed his lips in a featherlike kiss over Grissom’s neck, almost missing the short shudder that the subtle caress evoked -- hadn’t it been for the goose bumps. And the gasp.  
“What are you up to, Nicky?” Grissom asked conversationally, glancing at him over the rim of his glasses.  
“Who? Moi?” Could these eyes lie?  
Obviously Grissom decided they could.  
“Right. Pass the milk, please.”  
This time it were fingertips ghosting over Gil’s hand as Nick handed over the milk.  
“Nick …”  
“Hm?” Never saw a more fascinating article in this paper, lover.  
“Ahem. Nothing.”  
“Okay.”  
Aw what the hell … Nick rose to stand behind Grissom again, thumbs slowly running over his neck in both a soothing and arousing manner, carefully kneading the tension out of his lover’s muscles that would most likely cause a nasty headache later on. He was rewarded with a soft sigh as Gil relaxed, leaning into his touch. Bending down again Nick breathed over the exposed skin, teasing his lover into another shudder. None of his colleagues knew this facet of Gil Grissom, none had the slighted clue that underneath that controlled surface hid quite a sensual man. And nobody ever would. This man was his.  
Running his hands over Grissom’s chest from behind he turned him around a bit so that he was able to claim his boss’s lips in a slow and tender kiss, tongue running over the lower lip to coax Grissom into letting him in. With a soft groan Grissom surrendered, opening up under him, granting access and starting a bit of exploring on his part as well. Hands sneaking around his waist Nick was pulled onto his lover’s lap, coming to straddle his thighs.  
“So, nothing on your mind, huh?” Grissom breathed when Nick started to attack his earlobes with his teeth and the buttons of his shirt with his fingers.  
“Nothing out of the ordinary, lover.”  
Slipping his hands under the fabric of Gil’s shirt he enjoyed the sharp intake of breath, the involuntary arch into his touch. Grissom had closed his eyes and the grip on his hips tightened when Nick brushed his fingers over the skin of his chest, knowing every sweet spot all too well by now, and paying attention to every one of them he had Gil breathing harder and moaning softly within minutes.  
Oh yes, his lover was a sensualist, and a very responsive one, not to mention vocal. Another facet Nick never wanted to share with anybody – though once in a while the image of a younger Gil Grissom, experimenting with some aspects of lovemaking, sprung into his mind. And sometimes, in very rare moments, he was even able to see that younger man, in a tilt of a head, a twinkle in an eye, or in the afterglow of a very intense lovemaking. It were moments like these that Nick had the feeling his heart would simply overflow with love for one Gil Grissom.  
Just like now. Nick ghosted over a very erect nipple and was rewarded with another shiver.  
“Nick … I seem to remember this can be done horizontal as well … “  
Nick stopped for a second, pretending to think about it, then looked down into a pair of clouded blue eyes.  
“If you insist on the classical way…”  
“Not necessarily. I insist on the comfortable way. I’m not getting any younger… recently.”  
Nick chuckled and pulled Gil’s head into a deep fiery kiss. Finding out one was immortal – more or less – had been quite a change in both their lives, though Nick didn’t like the idea of needing to die to get a reset-button pushed. It had happened to Grissom once before, and Nick for his part didn’t need to relive this experience, though a part of his mind knew he would. One day, in the faaar away future.  
Not anytime soon.  
And definitely not now.  
“Nick? You okay?”  
Nick realized he must have gotten lost in his thoughts and returned his attention to his lover.  
“Yeah … just thinkin’.”  
“Do I want to know?”  
“Hell yes. Bedroom?”  
“Hmm … okay.”  
Nick chuckled again and slid off Gil’s leg, pulling the other man up and toward the bedroom.

* * *

"It's Sue-Ann."  
Nick looked up from where he was writing down some notes from their latest case. "Come again?"  
Warrick grinned almost triumphantly. "You're dating Sue-Ann from Trace, right?"  
Nick snorted, laughing. "No!"  
"She said she's going out with someone new."  
"So that new guy has to be me?"  
Warrick shrugged. "She's making the same big secret out of her date as you are."  
Nick sighed and shook his head. "Warrick, I'm not dating Sue-Ann."  
"The Dutch girl from the PD then? The little blonde?"  
"Enie? Nope."  
"Laura?"  
"Who's Laura?"  
"Laura Beckett. Red-head who transferred here two months ago from LA. She's working days."  
"No. I'm not dating any of the girls either at criminalistics or the PD."  
Warrick frowned and pursed his lips. "You wouldn't lie to me about it when I find her, right?"  
Nick rolled his eyes. "No, I won't. But I'm not dating some mysterious lady, okay?"  
A sigh answered him.  
"Why are you so set on this?" Nick wanted to know, closing his notebook.  
"Hey, someone's making you happy and I'm happy for you, bro. I just wanna get to know the lady in question. She must be something."  
"How come? Because she's dating a science nerd?"  
Warrick laughed. "Nope, she broke your dry spell."  
Nick groaned. "Why's everyone interested in my love life?"  
"Because until a while ago, there was none?" Brown shot back good-naturedly.  
Nick gave him the evil eye, then pointedly returned to work. Warrick chuckled and followed.

* * *

It was just past sunrise and normally, it was a time for Grissom to consider going to bed.  
Normally.  
Lately, normal had been by definition of the individual.  
He had returned from the weekend conference on Monday, just in time to be pushed head first into a new case. It had been a kidnapping at first, but had ended in a gruesome murder, and which had baffled not only his team but him as well. The sheriff had called him hourly, the mayor had demanded a quick and tidy solution, and Grissom had just nodded, smiled, and saw his opinion of politicians confirmed with each passing day. They weren’t interested in the victims or the relatives. They weren’t interested in the evidence or the crime. Only in the political repercussions, how the media reacted, how they could use a successful apprehension of the killer for their own careers.  
Grissom despised people like this. But he worked for them.  
Four nights and a lot of sleepless days later, the police had their suspect in custody and the graveyard shift had solved another case.  
Five weary men and women had closed their suitcases and traipsed home, knowing that as soon as their next shift started, they would be required to process the bureaucratics. With Sara’s vacation days coming up, they would be undermanned, especially since Warrick had court days scheduled for the next week.  
So when the call came in, he had just crashed. Showered, read some of the headlines, then decided to catch up on his missing sleep.  
He shouldn’t be on call. He actually wasn’t on call. Catherine was, since she hadn’t worked the last shift with him and Nick and Warrick. Nick was at his own place. While both men were a couple and he loved Nick, sometimes they both just crashed in separate beds, especially when their shift ends didn’t correspond.  
Grissom wearily opened his eyes as the phone continued ringing. It was his cell phone, so it was work related. With a sigh, he grabbed the offending device and answered.  
“Brass, I’m off duty,“ he informed the caller after listening for a moment. “That means you call Ecklie. His shift starts in an hour.” He listened again and shook his head tiredly. “Yes, I know he’s throwing a tantrum because of it, but the rules are clear.... Yes... yes... okay, I’m coming. You owe me, Jim.”  
With that he hung up and climbed out of the tantalizingly soft and warm bed, redressed in his clothes, and left his home fifteen minutes later. Picking up a coffee to go on the way, he made it to the crime scene.  
Gil was surprised to discover another CSI already on the scene – who didn’t look any better than he had to. Nick Stokes, dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved, medium brown shirt, and the customary CSI vest that marked him as a member of the law enforcement group currently on scene, was busy taking pictures.  
Two cars had crashed head on into a casino, destroying not only the support structure of the small roof sticking out onto the sidewalk, but also what had to be hundreds of light bulbs that had made up the spectacular wall of light right next to the main entrance. Now it was a shattered mess, glass shards everywhere, and Brass’s men had already taped off a wide section around the vehicles, a brown Ford and a blue Volvo.  
“One dead, one severely injured. Lots of bottles in the dead guy’s car. Witness reports say the cars were chasing each other, then the Volvo rammed the Ford and they both ended up in here,” Brass rattled off what he had written down so far.  
Grissom looked critically at the mass of twisted metal, then nodded. No words were lost about calling him out while not on call. He was here to do his job.  
“Hey, Gris,” Nick greeted him and Gil winced inside as he quickly scanned over his lover.  
Nick had dark smudges under his eyes from little to no sleep, he was rather pale, and his eyes spoke volumes. He probably hadn’t been able to get more than an hour of shut-eye.  
“Fifty-fifty?” Nick asked.  
Grissom nodded.  
“I’ll take the Volvo,” Stokes added with a quick smile.  
That left him with the Ford.  
The two men set to work.

*

“Gawd, I’m dead,” Nick groaned and collapsed into his couch cushions.  
Grissom, feeling no less dead, smiled down at the younger man. “And that makes you... my next case?” he teased.  
Nick chuckled. “If your investigations involve a large bed, uninterrupted sleep and you, then I’m it.”  
Gil’s smile widened. “They certainly do.”  
“Wonderful. I’ll go and...” Nick made a vague gesture as he managed to stumble up again, ”process the shower.”  
“You do that. I’ll fingerprint the bed.”  
Nick gave him a quick kiss, eyes briefly lighting up with more life. “Sounds great.”  
They made it both to bed eventually, showered and teeth brushed, just sliding together naturally. Grissom wrapped his arms around the younger man, relaxing into the warmth of the slender, athletic body, feeling Nick’s arms come around him, too. A kiss was pressed against his head, then Nick relaxed as well.  
“Gil?”  
“Hm?”  
Warrick’s been askin’ questions,” Nick murmured, his accent a bit more pronounced in this unwound state. "Lots of 'em."  
“I heard.”  
“He asked you, too?”  
“A while ago. Last week, I think. About you, Nicky. Whether or not I knew if you had a girl.”  
Nick chuckled. “I told him the truth. Don’t have a girl.”  
Grissom mirrored the smile, stroking warm hands over the lean flanks of his lover.  
“What if he finds out?” Nick wanted to know.  
“What do you think?”  
“I hate it when you answer a question with a question,” Nick complained.  
“So what do you think?” Grissom repeated his question, amusement in his voice.  
“Well... I don’t wanna hide, if that’s what you wanna know.” Nick pushed himself up a little, tired eyes meeting Grissom’s, but there was a spark in there the older man recognized. “I think if someone asks outright, we tell him. I’m not about to broadcast it, though.”  
Gil nodded. “Reasonable. So if Warrick asks you outright if you’re seeing men...?”  
Nick smirked. “That’s a definite no. I’m not seeing men. I’m seeing and very much loving you.”  
Grissom pressed a little kiss on the familiar lips. “If he asks you about me?”  
“I’ll tell him the truth.”  
“Good enough.”  
And with that, it was settled.  
Soon after that, sleep claimed the two exhausted men.

*

The shrill ringing of his cell phone jolted Grissom out of his dreams. He blindly fumbled for the cell, flipped it open and blinked fuzzily at the clock on Nick’s night table. Five hours had passed since they had come home.  
Damn.  
“Yeah, I’m here,” he answered as the caller asked. “Catherine.... Yes.... Yes.... I know Sara’s already off duty. Can’t you still reach her?... Ah... I see... Yes, of course I remember granting her this vacation..... Yes... Yes, I’m coming in.”  
He snapped the cell shut and gave it a dark look, then pushed himself up from his warm haven of peace and quiet, which had been so rudely disturbed.  
Nick blinked sleepily at him. He had been woken by the shrill ringing, too, and was trying to rouse himself more.  
“That Cath?” he mumbled.  
“Yes. She needs me.”  
“Want me to come along?”  
“No, you go on sleeping.”  
Grissom slipped out of bed and collected his clothes. They were wrinkled and he threw them in the general direction of the hamper, walking over to their by now shared wardrobe. He always had some spare clothes at Nick’s, and vice versa.  
“I’m awake.”  
“I’m your boss, Nicky, and you boss tells you that you aren’t needed on this one. Sleep,” Grissom repeated and pulled a shirt over his head, his voice muffled.  
“Yes, sir.”  
Grissom grimaced briefly, but then left the bedroom. He was on duty again.

* * *

Warrick, caught up in the same stressful accumulation of cases and nights, had been watching Nick for over a week now -- the time where there seemed to be one harrying case after another, with too many things happening at once, with pressure from above and below, with them caught in the middle. Everyone was losing sleep and despite Mobley’s disdain of paying overtime for the CSI, this time it was what he wanted: them pulling all the hours. Warrick didn’t mind the cash coming in, but it really was a drain on nerves, energy and sleep.  
So it was throughout one of the long hours in the lab that he stumbled over his first shred of evidence concerning Nick’s love life. They were all tired and while the lab guys could log out at the end of their shift, maybe only pull an hour or two past their regular shift, the CSIs stayed on. It were Nick, Warrick and Grissom present, with Warrick slaving over evidence from the last murder, when Brown saw them.  
In itself, Nick talking to Grissom was an innocent little scene. The two men got along fine, better in the last months, if Warrick was any judge of it, and he thought it was because Grissom had discovered that Nick knew sign language, too. What Stokes needed Sign for, Warrick had no idea.  
He glanced only casually at the two, aware that they didn’t see him in his lab, and he only saw them through the partially open door. Still, something must have fired his interest because he didn’t return to the evidence, he watched.  
And he saw the gesture.  
The touch.  
A touch that was innocent, too, but very much telling.  
It was a touch no friend would apply to another friend in any way – without getting decked for it. Not even Grissom would actually tolerate this touch, probably raise his eyebrows, say something, but all the older man did was smile, nod, then walk away. Nick smiled, too, the care-free killer smile that had women swoon.  
Only...  
No woman...  
Warrick felt realization hit him with an eighteen-wheeler.  
No way. No friggin’ way!  
But he had seen it. Nick’s hand touching the small of Grissom’s back in a gentle, almost loving way. A brief touch, barely lasting five seconds, but it had been enough to let a horrible suspicion sink in.  
Warrick tore his gaze away from the now empty corridor and tried to concentrate on his evidence, but the scene kept playing again and again.  
Drawing a deep breath, Warrick shook his head. No sense in jumping to conclusions. Grissom had taught him that. Observe, then process. That was what he would do.

* * *

Nick didn’t know when he had last had an uninterrupted stretch of off-time or sleep. Let alone time with Grissom off work. Things were culminating. If Grissom wasn’t in the lab, one of the examination rooms or out on a scene processing, he was stuck in his office doing paper work. Nick understood his lover’s job and he accepted that it meant Gil couldn’t just drop his things and leave when the shift was over, but by now it had become ridiculous. With Sara gone, they had requested someone else to help out with their cases. Due to a new designer drug, kids turned up dead in their morgue and no one had a clue as to who the supplier was. The ingredients were mixed, not clearly defined yet, and everyone in the labs was busy doing what they could.  
It was another politically important case and Nick saw his lover starting to crack under the pressure put upon him through the mayor. Grissom never showed the cracks to the outside world, but Stokes knew him better than anyone outside. Too much had been building in the last ten days and with the court dates tearing up their team, requiring each and every criminalist to give their statements, explain the evidence and the crime scene again and again, they were running ragged.  
Nick was awake when Grissom finally made it home at around 2 p.m. In six hours, their next shift would start. Not healthy. Nick had slept for a while, but Grissom hadn’t. He hadn’t slept much at all in those ten days. While a CSI was used to brief periods of sleeplessness, this was more than brief now. This was eating away at the sharp-minded entomologist.  
Stokes studied the pale, lined face, looking older than his actual age. The deep blue eyes were tired with faint smudges showing underneath. Grissom moved slower than usual and he didn’t seem to register Nick’s presence at all as he sorted through his mail, walking automatically over to the coffee machine.  
“Hey,” Nick said softly.  
Gil looked up, giving him a little smile. Okay, so he had registered him. Grissom hadn’t really seemed surprised or jumped out of his skin right now.  
“Hey.”  
“Long night,” the younger man remarked casually.  
“I ran into the sheriff. He had a few choice words for me, threatened to bring in the FBI, and then demanded we present him with our results by tomorrow.”  
“Asshole,” Nick muttered.  
They were doing their best and only because election for mayor was coming up and campaigns were running wild, everyone was set under pressure from the potential candidates, as well as the mayor himself. It was all a circus and they were the performing animals. No one was interested in the victims, like always when politics and human tragedy collided.  
“Get some sleep,” Nick said softly and walked over to his lover, plucking the mail from his hands. “You’re dead on your feet.”  
Grissom shook his head. “I’m fine. I need to call...”  
“You need to catch up on sleep, Gil.”  
“I’m fine, Nicky,” the older man repeated firmly.  
“Who told me – not too long ago, I have to add – that getting along with about five hours of sleep used to be no great trouble in his younger years? And today he finds himself needing more?”  
Anger wormed itself into Nick’s voice. He had watched Grissom starting to self-destruct in those ten days and it didn’t help to know that stress only furthered otosclerosis. He might not be suffering from sudden hearing loss at the moment, but he wasn’t helping his body either. This was too much for him.  
Grissom just watched him silently, head tilted a fraction to one side. Then he pushed away from the kitchen counter and walked over to the phone.  
“Grissom!”  
Nick stalked after him, furious by now. He reached the phone first and snatched it. Gil gave him a warning look.  
“Hand me back the phone, please,” was the quiet order.  
“No. This can wait. Everything can wait. You’re not one of Mobley’s puppets. You’re not Ecklie! Stop behaving like you are playing the game!”  
Grissom remained still as a statue, those tired eyes suddenly sparking. Nick glared at him, daring him to contradict.  
“This is your lover speaking, not your colleague, not your subordinate, Gil,” he added, voice softening. “You’re destroying yourself. I know you’re a Phoenix. I know you can come back from death, but killing yourself this way isn’t healthy. Especially to our relationship!”  
Grissom didn’t visibly flinch, but a cheek muscle twitched and the eyes darkened with pain.  
“It’s tearing you apart, and because of it, it tears at me, too.” Nick gave the older man a pleading look. “Please, Gil. Listen to your body. You are exhausted. You can’t go on like this. You're a supervisor, but you’re not a superman.”  
Grissom was still silent, his eyes never leaving Nick’s face, his own pale and drawn, a clear mirror of his physical exhaustion.  
“You’re allowed to ask for help. It’s not a weakness. Never a weakness.”  
Gil closed his eyes all of a sudden, swaying slightly. Nick reached out automatically, touching his lover, feeling the fine tremors, a sure sign of exhaustion. He stepped closer, ready to give Grissom room should he refuse to accept support.  
“You’re one of the strongest men I know, Gil,” he whispered, voice intense. “So much stronger than I can ever hope to be. But you have limits, and you just reached yours. I’m here for you. Please let me help.”  
Those dark blue eyes opened and their expression was raw and painful, reflecting everything that had mounted inside the man within the last weeks.  
Nick met the pain and exhaustion, wondering how Grissom had been able to shoulder so much in the past, with no one to turn to. Or had he turned to someone? If he had, it had never been for physical release. And psychological release? No, Grissom was a much too private person to open up to some stranger. Keeping himself away from the world was ingrained in him, and Nick had worked long and hard at breaking through those protective shells, getting to the very vulnerable and sensitive core of the man he had always admired. The man he loved and was in love with. The man he was proud of to call his partner, lover and friend. The man who needed him just as much as Nick needed Gil Grissom.  
And Gil had to relearn, too. He had to accept that Nick was there to help, in good times, in bad times, in crappy times like right now.  
“Let go,” Nick murmured. “Just for now.”  
Gil pursed his lips, as if he had to think about it, then reached out to touch Nick’s face. He pulled gently, a tug that was barely more than a little brush of fingers against skin, but Nick met his lover’s lips.  
“When did you grow up?” Gil asked when they separated. “And become so wise?”  
Nick grinned irrepressibly. “Someone had to in this relationship.”  
It got him a mild frown and that look Grissom sometimes favored his team with. Faintly disapproving, challenging, as well as puzzled by something no one else could even grasp. Nick brushed his hand over Gil’s cheek and then stepped back, pulling him toward the bedroom.  
“Sleep,” he instructed gently.  
Grissom followed him wordlessly, without hesitation, and when Nick undressed him, he only gave him an exasperated look.  
“I know you’re old enough to do it yourself, Gil, but you’re also dead on your feet. Sit.” Nick smiled at the growing frown, but Grissom obeyed.  
Shoes, socks, pants, they all followed the shirt that had been the first to sail across the room. Finally Nick handed him the pajama and Grissom smiled faintly.  
“You won’t redress me?” he teased.  
“Nope. I only do the undressing part.”  
Grissom slipped into the dark material, smothering a yawn. As he crawled under the covers, Nick leaned down and stole another kiss.  
“Nice dreams,” he whispered. “I’ll make the calls. You relax and get some shut eye.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
Nick smiled widely, pleased. “See? It works.”  
Grissom closed his eyes and curled onto one side. Nick looked fondly at him, then closed the bedroom door as he left.

* * *

Things had started to quiet down. From one hour to the next, the designer drug case had been solved, the police had found their perp, and the CSI calmed down to its usual hubbub, which was preferable to what had happened lately.  
Nick whistled to himself as he inspected the black substance so generously called ‘coffee’. It was actually a dark sludge and reminded him of things found at crime scenes or in dark recesses of even darker sewers. Smelled the same, too. Pouring the substance into the sink, he rinsed the pot and looked for the juice he had deposited in the fridge just three hours ago.  
“Nick? You got a minute?”  
He looked up and shot Warrick a smile. “Sure. What’s up?”  
Brown closed the door to the break room. They were currently alone. Grissom and Catherine were at an office worker suicide scene, while Nick and Warrick had the job of wrapping up the lose ends of the drug case. Nick wanted to be done with it by end of this shift. With Warrick helping, he was sure they would finally get all of this behind them – until they had to go to court.  
“Are you and Grissom together?“  
Nick’s jaw dropped. He knew he was staring at Warrick, eyes widening, then narrowing. The orange juice stood forgotten next to him.  
“Together?“ he echoed dumbly, mind reeling.  
“You know what I mean. Don’t try innocence me. You're not good at it.“  
Warrick’s face was almost neutral. Almost. There was a faint hint of anger in his eyes and around his tightening mouth.  
Nick steeled himself.  
“What if we were?“  
Okay, so he was using the Grissom Tactic of answering a question with another question.  
Sue me, Nick thought.  
Warrick frowned. “So you are?“  
Nick kept his silence. It was apparently answer enough.  
“How long?“  
Here goes. This was the moment Stokes had been afraid of. Warrick had asked outright and Nick and Grissom had agreed to answer straight-forward questions honestly. No lying, no obfuscations, no smokescreens.  
“Fifteen months.“  
Something seemed to twitch inside Warrick, something Nick didn’t like. Their eyes met in another silent stare.  
Suddenly Warrick turned, opened the door, and left. Nick gazed after him, still as a statue, his brain racing at lightspeed.  
He had to talk to Grissom.  
ASAP.

* * *

Grissom had come in late and missed Nick, who had clocked off an hour before. He hadn’t missed Warrick, who had wordlessly handed him a week’s vacation days request. With Sara back already, there was no reason for him to deny the man the request, though it tickled his curiosity. Warrick’s almost stony expression, the nearly accusatory look in those suddenly cold eyes, had added to the strange feeling Grissom had about it. He hadn’t asked Warrick why now. He had no right to question his colleague and Brown was not required to go anywhere in those seven days. All court dates were at a later date and the remaining four criminalists could handle a week.  
Now, with the sun out and Las Vegas day life already in full blow, Gil wove his Tahoe through the streets and toward his lover’s townhouse. For some reason, he suspected this was where Nick was. Not at Grissom’s house; his own.  
Unlocking the door after parking the car, he found that Nick had the TV running with a soft, background noise permeating the room. From the smell of it, his lover had made fresh orange juice and coffee. No toast, no eggs, no bacon. Nothing but the juice and coffee.  
“Nick?”  
Nick walked in from the office room he rarely used nowadays. It was mostly a storage space and contained hundreds of science books the younger man had collected in his college years and later on. Looking at Nick, Grissom felt the niggling turn into worry.  
Something had happened. Nick was an open book and Grissom knew how to read between the visible lines. He shot him a questioning look, encouraging his lover silently to talk. Nick met the deep blue gaze levelly.  
“Warrick knows.“  
“You told him?“  
“No. He asked.“  
Nick’s voice was flat, almost emotionless. Grissom didn’t like it one bit.  
“And?“  
“He reacted badly.“  
Grissom held his lover’s gaze and read what Nick wasn’t telling him in there. Warrick reacting badly could be anything from trying to punch Nick’s lights out to simply calling him names. He had done neither.  
[He stood up and left] Nick signed, hand movements abrupt.  
[He asked for a week off] Grissom supplied.  
“Shit,” was the softly whispered reply. Nick’s eyes held a suspicious glitter, emotions rising inside him.  
Gil loved Nick’s emotional openness, learned from it every time, and he soaked it up in their time together, be it in private or at work. Nick was open, he was a people person, and when something bothered him, it was easy to see. Like right now. He had been hit hard by Warrick’s rejection, harder than if the other man had slugged him. Nick had no idea how to react to Warrick just up and leaving without a word.  
“What now?” his lover asked.  
“It’s up to Warrick.”  
Nick ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, then rubbed over his face.  
“You won’t talk to him?“  
“Do you think it would accomplish anything?“ Grissom asked reasonably.  
A deep sigh. “No. Not really. Shit. I know there are homophobes out there, but I never took Warrick for one. Shit!”  
“You don’t know if he’s a homophobic, Nick.”  
“The way he reacted?” Stokes laughed, a humorless bark. “Hell!”  
Grissom gave him a tight smile. “We don’t have all the evidence to draw conclusions.”  
Dark brown eyes broadcast a myriad feelings and one of them was fear. A fear that had little to do with their discovery. Grissom wasn’t afraid of repercussions either. While he loved his job, he wasn’t rooted to this city. He could go anywhere and start again. It was a fear about their team, the graveyard shift. It could destroy them all.  
Gil stepped forward and Nick slipped into his embrace. Grissom rested his head against Nick’s shoulder, feeling the younger man squeeze tightly once.  
“So we just wait?” Nick murmured.  
“Yes.”  
“What if...?” he stopped and shook his head.  
Grissom looked up and pressed a kiss against Nick’s lips. “We’ll handle it when it happens, Nicky.”

* * *

Warrick sat in his home, beer in hand, TV running on a game. He wasn't listening to the commentary, nor was he really watching the moving pictures. It was a valiant effort of distraction that wasn't working.  
Thoughts were circling in his head. Again and again.  
Nick.  
And Grissom.  
Together.  
As lovers.  
Nick...  
Nick Stokes.  
His friend of six years.  
And Grissom. His boss.  
Nick having sex with Grissom.  
Sleeping together.  
He shuddered as images popped up unbidden, all of pornographic content. The men in the images had little to do with the two men he was currently thinking about, but the act was the same.  
What's in it for Nick? he thought darkly. Sleeping with the boss? A promotion? Other benefits – except for getting laid?  
Well, he could have that easier... there were hookers everywhere.  
Another swallow of beer ran down his throat.  
And Grissom? Grissom having sex was something hard on the mind already, but with a man? With Nick of all people?  
Nick, who came across straight as an arrow? Who had dated women before?  
Nick?!  
His friend.  
Or was it forced? Was Grissom using Nick? Blackmailing? But Grissom? No way, man.  
But they were together...  
Having sex together.  
Naked.  
In bed.  
Warrick had seen Nick in various states of undress and he knew what the other man looked like. More slender than at first sight, mainly because of the clothes he wore, but athletic and muscular.  
Sure he had checked him out. It was a men's thing. Looking at the competition or something.  
But there was Grissom, too. He had never seen the man undressed in the locker room. He had no inkling what was hidden under the dark clothes, but it was debatable that he looked anything like Nick. Grissom wasn't the type.  
So what attracted Nick to an older man.  
Experience?  
Nah. Nick wasn't a virgin.  
The looks?  
Grissom looked interesting enough, but he wasn't drop dead gorgeous. He was just.. Grissom.  
Warrick emptied his beer and got himself a second one.  
So what was this?  
What. Was. This?

* * *

Greg Sanders wasn’t blind. He actually had 20-20 vision and despite coming across as a happy-go-lucky guy who was more interested in girls and magazines that made one look cool, he was quite observative and could be dead serious if need arose. Lately, that need had only arisen once, and Greg was glad that things had settled again with Nick and Grissom. For the last months, he had secretly kept an eye on the new couple, the Phoenix and the Mimic, but there had been no exceptional developments. Both were getting along fine and if he hadn’t known about the relationship, he never would have guessed.  
So when he started to notice the changes in Nick and then in Grissom, all alarm bells rang. The change coincided with Warrick’s sudden week off, too. Greg watched Nick even more closely. With Grissom it was harder; the man was either out and at crime scenes or locked up in a lab. Nick was still more out in the open and still the easier of the two to read for Greg.  
“Hey,” he greeted the older man as he stepped into the lab where Nick was looking at some samples from the latest assignment, a dead hiker from out in the desert.  
“Hey, Greg.”  
Okay, that had sounded... dull. Lifeless. Unlike the Nick Stokes he knew.  
Greg perched himself on a stool, glancing over at the door, making sure it was really closed. The criminalistic labs were one large aquarium, rooms enclosed by glass walls and steel frames, and while he didn’t mind someone seeing him here, he didn’t care about being overheard.  
“You okay, man?” he asked, straight-forward, voice serious.  
Nick looked up and gave him a smile. It never reached his eyes. “Yeah. Just a bit overworked.”  
He returned his eyes to the microscope.  
“Right,” Greg muttered. “You and Grissom doing fine?”  
Nick’s head snapped up. "What?" he stuttered.  
"I was asking if you and Grissom are doing fine," Greg repeated calmly. "You both seem to be a bit under the weather and while I'm no expert, I doubt it's a lover's quarrel."  
Nick opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again.  
Good impression of a goldfish, Greg thought with amusement.  
Nick darted a look over to the door, then directed an angry glare at Greg.  
Sanders smiled and raised his hands in a warding off gesture. “Easy on the death looks, Nick. I'm just a worried friend. You’ve been running around the labs the last two days like you and he had split.”  
“We’re both fine,” he growled.  
“So... you’re just overworked, Grissom’s still there... what is it then?”  
“Greg? Get out, please? I have to work.”  
Greg frowned. “Nick, you know you can talk to me,” he said, voice level, calm. “You already did. There’s nothing weak or bad about needing to talk to someone outside the close circle of family. Something happened and it’s showing. If it shows any more, people will start to talk. They will ask questions.”  
Nick’s glare intensified for a second, then he dropped his gaze, but he refused to answer.  
“Does it have something to do with Warrick?” Greg poked in the dark.  
Bingo! he cheered when Nick’s whole body seemed to wince. Stokes screwed his eyes shut and drew a deep breath, then pushed away from the microscope.  
“You’re not going to leave me alone, right?”  
“Nope.” Greg let some humor suffuse his otherwise level voice.  
Another puff of air was released. “Not here, okay?”  
“I’m up for a coffee break.”  
Nick nodded and the two men left the lab. Greg got them a cup of coffee each, from his own, special blend that he now kept in a secret cupboard in his lab, and they walked outside. It was a warm night and while some people were coming and going, no one bothered the two ‘lab rats’ as they settled away from the entrance.  
Greg waited, patiently, silently, occasionally sipping at his coffee. Nick finally ran a hand through his close-cropped hair and sighed deeply.  
"How do you know about Grissom and me?"  
The lab rat shrugged. "Ezra told me when he first called about your changes."  
"I see. And you're okay with it?"  
"I'm cool with it."  
Another silence ensued and both men drank coffee, watching the coming and going of uniforms and people in civilian clothing. No one gave them much attention.  
“Warrick knows.”  
Greg gazed at his friend. Ouch, he thought.  
“About you and Grissom?” he finally asked.  
“Yeah.”  
“How come?”  
“He asked. I answered.”  
“Ah.” Greg furrowed his forehead. “Why?”  
“’Cause I don’t like lyin’, Greg. Grissom and I talked about it, whether or not to come out to our friends and colleagues, but I said I didn’t want to ruin his career.”  
What about yours? Greg thought silently.  
“So we agreed to answer if asked,” Nick continued, staring at the concrete ground. “Warrick apparently saw something, put two and two together, and he asked me.”  
“And he couldn’t deal with it? Called you names? Threatened you? Attacked you?”  
A harsh laugh. “No. He just looked at me, then got up and left. Next thing I know, he’s got a week off and me... I’m wondering if he’ll destroy Grissom and me.”  
“I doubt it. He’s your friend,” Greg argued, playing with the empty mug in his hands.  
“A friend who didn’t know about me seeing a guy, let alone being interested in guys.”  
“Well, yeah, you got a point.”  
Nick looked at him. “You didn’t know it either. How freaked were you?”  
Wow, where had that come from?  
Greg blinked, then grinned. “Hey, you’re talking to a guy who knows about the paranormal out there, and you’re asking me if I’m freaked about two guys involved with each other?”  
Nick chuckled tiredly. “Point taken.”  
“And even if I had no idea about that other world, this is Vegas, Nick.” Greg grinned. “There’s nothing out there that can shock me. Well, except for seeing someone die on me while I’m helping you interview him,” he added, grimacing.  
Nick patted his shoulder. “You did well, Greg. Never doubt that.”  
Greg shrugged. “I’m over it. As for Warrick... maybe he just has to think about it?”  
A deep sigh left the older man. “I hope so, Greg, I really hope so. I’d hate to lose him as a friend, as well as a colleague, but if he decides he wants to destroy us... he has it in his power to do so. And that scares me more than every outing I can imagine.”  
Greg nodded solemnly. If Warrick Brown didn’t accept the relationship, things could get ugly.  
“I should get back to work,” Nick muttered and rose. “Thanks for the coffee, man. And the open ear.”  
Greg flashed him a wide smile. “Anytime, Nick. You know where to find me.”  
Nick clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly way, grinning, too. “Yep, I do.”

* * *

Catherine had been watching the situation unfold from day one. Her female instincts had screamed alarmingly when Warrick had suddenly taken a few days off, and they had gone up several notches when Nick and Grissom had started to behave strangely.  
Well, Grissom was just Grissom, just a degree or two more intense than normal. But there was Grissom’s suddenly cooler behavior, his distance, the way he started to shut himself off from others. He was back to his sometimes brooding self, back to the Grissom before Nick. Her first worry had been that the two men had split up, but something inside Catherine had vetoed that. While some observations fit, others didn’t. The two men were still working close to each other, there was still the brief, soft smile on Nick’s lips, and they more often than not spent a break room moment together.  
It was Nick who had grown too quiet for her liking, and while she also saw Greg actively hanging out more and more with his friend, there seemed to be little he could change.  
At first she had suspected that something was wrong between Grissom and Nick. But that theory had quickly made it down the drain as she watched them, saw how close the two men still were. Close enough to be lovers, discrete enough not to tip anyone else off.  
So if it wasn't something personal....  
Catherine wasn’t stupid. You didn’t get to be a CSI by playing it blonde. She had put the power of observation to use.  
And her instincts had told her where to go. Actually, they hadn't been able to really give her Warrick Brown's location right away, but she had driven around and looked.  
Catherine had finally come out to the racetrack. While Warrick no longer gambled, he liked to watch horse races.  
Now she was here, wondering if it was a good idea. If Grissom and Nick had a problem with Warrick, who was she to interfere?  
A good friend, she decided firmly. A caring friend.  
Approaching the man leaning against the railing, watching the horses, she took in Warrick's slightly pinched looks, his tired expression.  
Well, no beating around the bush now...  
“What’s your problem?“ she asked, straight-forward.  
Warrick turned to look at her, surprise registering in his face as he discovered one of his co-workers next to him. He must have been very deep in thought to just ignore her, Catherine thought. He had probably ignored the whole world.  
"What are you doing here, Catherine?"  
"Getting some air," she replied flippantly. "So, what's your problem?"  
“My problem?“ he echoed.  
“You took time off. From one day to the next. Not your style. So, what’s your problem? Are you gambling again?“  
Warrick’s face darkened and anger rose to the surface. “I don’t gamble any more and you know it!“  
She smiled disarmingly. “Yes, I do. So… what is it?“  
Silence.  
“I never figured you of all people to be a homophobe.“  
Warrick’s head snapped around and he stared at her. “Me of all people?“ he echoed, incredulous. “What do you mean ‘me of all people’? I’m not! Never was!“  
She smiled.  
“So it is about Nick and Grissom.“  
Angry silence answered her and Warrick turned back to watching ten horses race each other around the elliptic race track.  
Gotcha.  
“Think one of them might come on to you? Ravish you? Make advances? Grope? Fondle?“  
Warrick snorted, glaring a little. “No.”  
“Do you have a problem with Nick or Grissom being bi?“ she poked deeper.  
Warrick frowned and glanced at her again, losing interest in the race. “No.”  
She raised an eyebrow.  
“Well… I never figured either of them to be interested in men…. Least of all Nick,“ he conceded.  
“So you have a problem with them being together?“  
“No! Hell, I figure if Grissom gets a date and a life, it’s good for him. Nick, for all his looks and charm, can’t get a foot in the door either.”  
Astute power of observation, Catherine lauded silently. Warrick and Nick were friends, and while Warrick wasn’t a dating machine either, he had had better experiences than the other man.  
“Or is it anger? Because neither told you?“  
Warrick’s eyes flashed and a muscle jumped in his cheek.  
Bingo!  
“So it’s that.”  
“I thought Nick was my friend!” Brown growled.  
“Friends have secrets from each other, too.”  
“You knew!”  
She smiled. “But not because either Grissom or Nick took me aside and explained the details of their new relationship to me. I found out by watching – and adding one and one. I came up with a nice pair and a healthy relationship that is doing worlds of good to both of them, Warrick.”  
“I know that! I watched them, too! Hell, I knew something was going on when Nick was getting all cheery and bright-eyed. Grissom was suddenly more human, too.” He hung his head and gazed at the horses, arms still resting on the railing. “Just thought Nick would tell me.”  
“He did.”  
“Had to ask him first.”  
Catherine tilted her head a fraction. “But he told you,” she repeated. “He could just as well have lied to you. We all know Nick’s not the world’s best liar, but he could pull it off.”  
Warrick frowned slightly, more in thought than in anger. “Yeah, he could have.”  
“And he didn’t. You asked, he answered. He put an incredible amount of trust in you. He respects you, Warrick.”  
“Does Sara know?”  
“Does it matter?”  
He shot her an annoyed look and Catherine chuckled.  
“No, she doesn’t.”  
“She never asked, huh?”  
She shrugged. “Probably.”  
“Fifteen months,” Warrick mused. “Fifteen goddamned months and I never picked up on it.”  
“They hide it well. While your sexual orientation is your private life, being in a relationship with a colleague, your boss, just won’t do.”  
Warrick chewed on his lower lip. Catherine knew he was thinking about the same thing she did. He had the power to destroy everything; not Nick or Grissom, but the team.  
“Think about it,” she simply said, then turned and left him alone.

* * *

Warrick hadn’t stayed long at the racetrack. A lot of things were going through his head and he needed to move, to get rid of the excess energy, so he had started to walk. Moving with the throng of tourists, he let himself drift along the Strip, into the casinos and through the shopping streets. He didn’t see the gambling tables, the one-armed bandits, the shows. He was thinking.  
Nick was a really good friend. A very good one. They shared a passion for sports, he was easy-going, fun to be around, and he was a good CSI. Warrick had spent a lot of time with his friend watching sports games, friendly competition bets going on between them, just like they had competed for CSI level 3. Nick had won back then, but it had been Warrick’s own stupidity that had made him lose. And he had always been there as a friend, even when Warrick had severely messed up. He had offered the friendship without strings attached; free.  
Brown had already been on Grissom’s team for a year when Nick had joined. A young scientist, eager and full of good will, seeing an icon in Grissom. Like every single one of them. Including Catherine. She might be able to get the more mature aura across, but Warrick knew she was as impressed and sometimes awed by Gil Grissom as all of them. Nick had aspired to be like Grissom, to show the older man what he could do, please him in all possible ways at the job. Wide-eyed wonder and smarts had collided in Nick Stokes, and it had taken a while until the criminalist had understood that he was digging his own grave, trying to be what he thought Grissom wanted.  
Warrick smiled dimly. Nick had found his place, had undergone a transformation, and while there were a lot of rough edges still, he was more secure now. He didn’t try to be something he thought others expected him to be; he was himself.  
Just like they all had learned to be. Grissom was really rubbing off on them, though Warrick doubted anyone could ever be like the older man. Gil Grissom was unique.  
And now he and Nick had gotten together. Not as colleagues, not as friends, but as lovers. Warrick knew gay people. He connected with them on the job, and some of his friends in this town had gay friends. Sexual orientation had never mattered to Brown. He knew what he liked and whatever else was out there, to each his own he always thought. But now it had happened in his own back yard, with a good friend he had never expected to see turning to same-gender lovers, and his boss.  
But Catherine had been right. It wasn’t so much the fact that Nick was bi, or gay, than that he hadn’t told him. Not one single word; not a hint. Nothing. Just like that, the relationship had slipped under his nose. Warrick felt so blind, but looking back, he didn’t really see any hints. Only when he had known had he pegged them as a couple.  
Nick and Grissom.  
Somehow, it was still mind-boggling. Nick was an attractive man, with the body, the looks and the charm, even the brains; women swooned over him. Grissom was... simply Grissom. If asked about his boss’s sex life, Warrick would probably have thought ‘What life?’. Those completely opposite and different men had found together.  
Maybe it was love.  
Grissom wasn't the person to take what he wanted without asking. He was loyal, he stood by his people, he stood up for them, and he had helped them whatever shit they had gotten themselves into. Warrick knew how much Grissom had done for him. So Gil Grissom wouldn't just take advantage of Nick.  
He loved him.  
It could have happened.  
Warrick sighed. He was turning in circles and it wasn’t getting him anywhere, except back to the beginning. He had a problem with Nick not telling him anything. He felt left out. So he had reacted badly. No, worse than badly. He had been a jerk. A prick. Homophobic.  
“Shit,” he muttered and pushed away from the railing separating the spectators from the pirate show in front of the Treasure Island. “Damnit!”  
He had to talk to Nick. Grissom, too, probably, but mainly to Nick.

* * *

Grissom smiled as he watched the tempting figure of his lover, quite aware what effect the younger man had on him. He wasn't a teenager with raging hormones anymore, but he still felt…. And what he felt was lust. Pure and simple. A new concept for him, alien until a nearly a year ago, and always a fascinating sensation again.  
Nick waved a welcome at him as he jogged up the driveway to his townhouse, dressed in dark sweat pants and a brown t-shirt. He looked a bit out of breath, but to Grissom, he looked delectable.  
"Hey, Gil! You’re early," he puffed and stopped beside him, smiling widely.  
"Want me to leave again?“ Grissom teased as they walked into the house and he pushed the door shut..  
„Hell no!“  
Gil stepped into his lover's personal space, one hand resting on the lean hip, the other wrapping around the strong, sweat-slick neck. He slanted his mouth over Nick's, feeling Stokes eagerly open up, press against him, seeking physical nearness. Grissom let the hand on the hip slide to the shapely behind, fingers caressing it through the soft fabric of the sweats.  
Nick groaned into the kiss, pressing himself against Grissom, seeking full body contact. It amazed the older man just how much Nick fired him up, got him going. It wasn’t like Nick had been the proverbial fountain after a long and seemingly endless dry spell. He was simply... the one. The one person Gil had never really looked for; the one who took him as he was, who didn’t try to change him into something he wasn’t. Nick was Nick, and he was his lover, among other things. Their relationship worked. Strange and odd and weird and chaotic as it was, it worked.  
Pushing Nick back against the wall, Grissom proceeded to do to his lover’s mouth what he planned to do to other parts of his body soon. Nick answered the demanding kiss, holding Grissom close, with every intention not to let him flee. Gil had no intention to do so.  
He slipped a hand between their bodies, making his lover groan again, hips twitching into his exploratory fingers. The fabric was by now stretching over the growing bulge and Nick was getting into trouble.  
“Gil,” he moaned, breathing harder.  
Grissom nipped at the exposed throat, sun-tanned, smooth and vulnerable. He tasted the salty sweat and Nick was moving against his hand and leg, fingers digging into the strong shoulders.  
“Shower?” Nick moaned.  
“Bed,” Grissom growled.  
“I’m sweaty.”  
“Don’t care.”  
Grissom stepped back a bit, gazing at the aroused man, only too aware of his own state. He wanted Nick, he wanted to bury himself deep inside this wonderful man. He saw the hunger in those dark brown eyes, now almost black, and it only fed his own.  
He let one hand skim over the body-hugging shirt, touching the straining nipples through the fabric, watching Nick bite his lower lip.  
“I want you,” he declared.  
Nick licked his lips, the hunger growing, almost feverish. Grissom saw the half-playful look flashed at him from under lowered lashes, and felt a surge of heat flood his entire body.  
They made it to the bedroom – somehow; both naked, both highly aroused, and Grissom was playing with his lover’s erotic spots, making him squirm with growing need. Their mouths met again, both men dueling for mastery, and finally Nick relented, turning control over to his older lover. Gil almost tasted the surrender and his hand cupped the hard length, squeezing, stroking, massaging. Nick thrust against him, making little noises of growing pleasure.  
Stroking the curves of the narrow hips to the thighs, then the round behind, Grissom fought the compulsion to just push his lover’s legs open and sheath himself in the responsive body. This wasn’t their first time, but he didn’t want to let this play of gentle dominance get out of hand. Today wasn’t the time. They had played before, and it had been intense each time, but today would be neither rough nor gentle. It would be both.  
So he kissed and stroked and licked his way down south, smiling as Nick parted his legs, eager, responsive, wanting. Grissom was aware of two dark eyes watching him with fascination and arousal as he took the hard length and licked over it, long legs twitching in response. Nick, pushed up on his elbows, started to breathe even harder, groaning in pleasure. Gil knew how long to play, where to nibble, squeeze or suck to get the best possible result, and he knew when to back off.  
“Gawd, don’t!” Nick moaned.  
“Don’t what?” Gil whispered throatily, gently pumping the hard arousal after stopping another orgasm. “Don’t stop? Don’t continue?”  
Nick glared, unconsciously moving with Grissom’s hand, looking so delectable, so wonderfully aroused, it made Grissom ache even more.  
“Don’t stop,” was the husky reply. “Please...”  
“I love it when you beg,” Grissom growled and gave the hardness another tug.  
Nick let his head fall back, gasping. “You getting kinky again?” he teased, voice wobbly now.  
The older man smiled his mysterious little smile, taking another lick. Nick shivered. Grissom let go of his prize and reached for the lube placed so conveniently on the table. Nick’s expression was more than eager and approving. He was downright devouring Grissom with his eyes now.  
But Gil reined himself in, going about the preparation as maddeningly slow as everything so far, and Nick cried out twice in frustration as he was stopped from reaching his climax.  
“Gil!”  
“Yes?”  
“Please!”  
He kissed the begging man, hard and demanding, one hand gliding up one raised and bent leg.  
Finally, Grissom slid home, stopping as the tightness enclosed him, pleasure swamping him in waves.  
“Move!” Nick moaned.  
And Grissom did. Slowly at first, then with building speed.  
Climax came too fast for him, but there had been no holding back. Nick’s yell of completion would have woken the neighbors if there had been any asleep, but as it was, it was the middle of the day. Normal people were at work. CSIs weren’t normal people, especially those working graveyard shifts.  
Nick’s arms came around him as Grissom sank forward, holding him close, cushioning him, and he heard the rough voice of his lover whispering to him.  
“I love you,” he murmured, the words so easy now, so natural.  
Nick gave a soft sigh of sated pleasure, and a sloppy kiss was placed onto his lips.  
They simply lay together, in the afterglow, the world around them non-existent for now.

* * *

Warrick stood in front of Nick’s house, squinting into the bright daylight from behind his sunglasses, wondering if he was doing the right thing. He was due back to work tomorrow, but he didn’t want to go in without having reconciled with Nick. Nick was his friend and just because he had kept his love life a secret wasn’t a reason to end that friendship. Or do something Warrick would later regret.  
So after some more minutes of indecision and contemplating, he stepped up to the house and rang.  
The door was opened by a leisurely dressed Nick. Surprise crossed the square features, quickly followed by a wariness that pained Warrick.  
“Hey,” Stokes said, voice slow, cautious and less enthusiastic than he normally greeted a friend.  
“Hey, Nick. Uh... I dropped by to... y’know... talk?”  
Nick’s eyebrows dipped slightly, but he opened the door and Warrick stepped inside.  
Brown’s eyes roamed around the townhouse. He had never been here and he liked what he saw. Unlike Nick’s first place, it was furnished with lighter colors, had larger windows, and it looked airier. There were a pair of sliding doors leading to a terrace and what he could see from here, Nick belonged to the sensible people who didn’t plant grass. It took a lot of water to keep the grass green and Stokes had gone for the desert garden style, something the city had started to encourage in the last years.  
“Want a coffee? Beer?” Nick offered.  
“Soda’d be nice.”  
Nick walked over to the fridge and pulled out two sodas, tossing one at Warrick.  
“Listen, I... I’m sorry ‘bout how I behaved,” Warrick finally said, playing with the open can, taking a little sip. “It just... I was kinda angry.”  
“Angry?” Nick echoed, looking genuinely stomped.  
“Yeah. I mean, we’ve known each other since you came to Vegas, man. We hang out together, we go to games, you’re my friend! I thought you’d, well, tell me.”  
Nick blinked, still looking dumbstruck. “Warrick...”  
“I know, I know. You don’t really spill everything ‘bout your love life, but....” Warrick pushed a hand through his hair. “Hell, Nick, I’m sorry. I was simply angry at you for keeping this a secret. Nothing else. I mean, I can see you’re happy and I just wanted to know who made you happy. You’ve gotta confess that your love life was a long dry spell.”  
He tried a weak smile. Nick answered it with a stronger version, actually chuckling.  
“Yeah. It was.”  
“I’m real glad you found someone and I think you’re pretty good for Grissom, too.”  
Nick shot him a surprised look. "You think I am?"  
Warrick chuckled. "Yeah. You are. Real good. I know you are.”  
“So... you’re okay with this?”  
“You mean you and the boss sleeping together?” Warrick bit the inside of his cheek when he saw Nick wince. “It’s not like he’s been treating you any different in the last fifteen months. No favors, no nothing.”  
“We can keep work and private life apart.”  
“Yeah, I can see that. I’m okay with it, Nick. Really. Now I am.”  
Nick smiled again, this time with relief, and Warrick felt the same relief swamp through him.  
“Will you ever tell Sara?” he wanted to know.  
Nick shrugged. “If she asks.”  
"And the others?"  
"The same."  
Warrick looked thoughtfully at him. "You know what'll happen when this comes out, right?"  
Nick met his eyes seriously. "Yeah We both do. And we'll deal with it when it happens."  
"There's been a lot of change, Nick. Politically as well as socially…"  
"But not everyone can accept it. It's not like presenting your girl, Warrick. We're two men loving each other." Nick's voice was calm and reasonable. "When it comes out and we start having the trouble all gay couples do, we'll draw the consequences."  
“Gotcha.” Warrick emptied his can and put it on the kitchen counter. “I better go. Have to enjoy my last day off, huh?”  
Nick chuckled.  
“Warrick?”  
Brown stopped at the door and looked at the other man. “Yeah?”  
“Thanks, man.”  
He smiled. “Anytime.”  
And then the door closed.

 

Grissom stepped out of Nick’s office room, glasses perched on his nose, a crosswords book in one hand, a pen in the other. Blue eyes looked at the door, then swiveled over to Nick. Nick simply smiled at his lover.

* * *

He had been back on the job for two weeks now. Warrick had worked alongside Nick, Grissom, Sara and Catherine as easily as before. He really did feel at ease. Okay, so part of him still watched the two men, but not for the obvious reasons. It was to make sure that he hadn't done any harm.  
At first he had been afraid he had. There were no apparent signs of a relationship between Grissom and Nick. No lingering eye-contact, no touches, nothing. But then he remembered that they had been together for fifteen months now and he hadn't seen it before. If not for that little faux pas in the corridor, he would still be blind to it.  
So he relaxed again.  
Currently, both he and Nick were in the break room. Nick was busy eating a sandwich and going over the news section of the paper, while Warrick just leaned back and kept an eye on the TV news. The volume had been turned down, but the scroll bar held the latest information anyway.  
Normally, he mused, they would be discussing their girls right about now. Especially since Nick was in a relationship. Warrick would be grilling him about the details, demanding answers, wanting to know all about it.  
He still couldn't see them together intimately, kissing and touching and doing what couples do, but then again, he'd have the same problem with Sara and Hank. Warrick grinned.  
As it was... he didn't dare ask. The partner in question was Grissom. Gil Grissom. His boss. Who he had trouble thinking sexually of in the first place.  
Nope. Let's not go there.  
Thinking about what those two were doing... nope!  
Looking up from his coffee, he noticed that the object of his thoughts was just passing by the break room and entering a lab.  
Imagination started running wild.  
Shit!  
He opened his mouth, then shut it again.  
No way! He wasn't going to ask.  
Turning back, he discovered he was fixed by a pair of dark brown eyes that were filled with obvious amusement. Warrick tried to look non-chalant, but he knew he was failing.  
"Warrick?"  
"Hm?"  
"You were going to ask."  
"Huh?"  
"About me and Grissom."  
"No I wasn't!" he protested.  
Nick grinned impishly. "You want to know how he is in bed, right?"  
Warrick sputtered. "I do not!"  
"Well, you wanted to know of all the girls I dated."  
"You didn't have that many!" he muttered.  
"But you always asked. So... ask?"  
"No way."  
Nick grinned more as he bunched up his sandwich wrapper. "Tell you what, dude... he's hot!"  
Warrick spit coffee across the break room. Damn the man for delivering that while he was trying to hide behind his coffee cup!  
Nick grinned even more, if that was possible, then got up and left.  
Warrick coughed and started to wipe coffee from his pants. He didn't notice Catherine strolling into the break room, smiling at Nick as he walked away.  
"You had to ask, right?"  
Warrick looked up, unsuccessful in his attempts to save his pants. The coffee stains were there to stay. Great. Thank god he kept a change in the locker.  
"What?"  
"You asked Nick how Grissom's in bed, right?"  
He would have spit his coffee again if he had been drinking any. "What?!"  
Catherine chuckled. "Some questions are better left unanswered."  
Warrick gave a growl and got up, walking over to the sink to dump the rest of his coffee. It was the moment he discovered Grissom standing at the large window of the room. His boss was looking at him over the rim of his glasses, holding what looked like case reports in his hands, and there was this well-known expression of faint puzzlement and amusement in his eyes.  
Ah hell!  
Catherine chuckled, patted his back, and left. She nodded at Grissom, then strode away. Warrick met the blue eyes of his supervisor and was almost startled to discover the small smirk on the other man's lips. Grissom's eyes twinkled as he turned away and followed where Catherine had gone.  
Warrick was left behind, covered in coffee spray, thinking that whatever happened next, he wouldn't even contemplate those two ever again.


End file.
